


To Break a Fall

by justicarwrites



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: AU - Lexa faked her death, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/F, Fluff, Light Angst, Tumblr Prompt
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-07-12
Updated: 2016-09-03
Packaged: 2018-07-23 12:22:42
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 3,530
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7463085
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/justicarwrites/pseuds/justicarwrites
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A collection of short one shots based on prompts sent to me on tumblr. Tags will be updated regularly, and I'll put any content based warnings at the top of each entry.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Galaxies and Good mornings

**Author's Note:**

> "I see stars in your eyes"

It’s a rare occasion Lexa has the opportunity to sleep in. This morning there are no ambassadors to attend to, no crucial meetings that’ll determine the future of the coalition, and no battles looming overhead she must plan for.

It’s nice, peaceful, and rare.

But it’s even more rare for her to have a morning such as this without making use of the extra time to sleep. 

Lexa dusts her fingertips gently across Clarke’s bare shoulder blades and down her arms, painting invisible patterns across skin in a mere sad imitation of the art she’s seen the woman before her create. She’s no artist, that’s for certain, but still she tries to trace the lines and edges of Clarke’s sleeping form in the hope that someday they’ll be immortalized in her memory like the sculptures and paintings of old.

No, Lexa’s not an artist. But Clarke is absolutely a masterpiece.

Catching up on sleep would pale in comparison to this moment, and she already has to remind herself that she’s not dreaming.

“You know, my people consider disturbing someone’s sleep rude.” Clarke’s already raspy voice only sounds deeper for her first words after slumber. She keeps her eyes closed and her body still, refusing to let the morning’s light officially signify the start to the day.

Lexa can’t find it in her to still her hand, and doesn’t try to resist the small smile threatening to meet her features upon realizing her lover’s awakened. “I’m sorry.” It’s an empty statement.

“Hmmm.” Clarke lets out in acknowledgement before falling silent again. Lexa thinks she may have fallen back asleep when she turns around, tucks her her head under Lexa’s chin, and pulls closer at her waist. “Maybe someday I’ll forgive you.”

There’s nothing small about Lexa’s smile as she resumes the light movements across Clarke’s back. They’re silent for a long while, Lexa basking in the simplicity of her few lazy mornings, and the only indication Clarke remains awake being the grip she has on her hip.

“What are you thinking about?” Lexa feels the breath of the whisper more so than she hears it.

_“You.”_ Would be the simplest answer. She says “It’s nothing” instead.

“Nothing stressful, I hope. It’s too early.”

“No. Nothing stressful.” Quite the opposite, really. It’s mornings like these she lets herself be free of the stresses of responsibility and duty. They’re few and far between, and she refuses to squander them. At times the promise of another moment like this is the only thing keeping her sane.

That’s the thought that makes her confess the real answer.

“Sometimes I think you brought part of the sky down with you when you fell, Clarke.” 

She pulls back her head just enough to look at her. Clarke cracks her eyes open, squinting at the sudden brightness. “Why?”

In truth, there are many aspects to Lexa’s theory, all of which she’s thought extensively about.

Clarke brought with her a countless number of things.

A piece of the sun, just enough to orient herself as a central piece to Lexa’s universe, and remind her of the brightness and warmth love can bring.

A piece of the moon, a bravery to lead travelers through the darkness and the resilience to return night after night, no matter the difficulty.

The fleeting and delicate nature of the clouds above, affection that can be damaged and changed but still always somehow finds a way back.

Dangerous unknowns like that within the impenetrable emptiness of space, the fears Lexa must actively choose to understand in order to move forward towards something better, something less hollow.

As Clarke’s vision adjusts to the light, and Lexa’s able to look upon the full glory of all she finds there, she says “I see stars in your eyes.”

That’s what it is, most of all. Clarke brought with her stars when she fell. Stars that can lead Lexa home no matter the distance. Stars so infinite in number they’re the only thing she can faithfully compare to all she feels for the woman in her arms. Stars with an individual beauty she can never entirely describe in words.

The skies are less bright, less stunning, and less remarkable in every way imaginable without Clarke among them.

Lexa doesn’t know how she lived any other way.  

Clarke leans up and presses a light kiss to her cheek before tucking her head back down onto Lexa’s chest, right over her heart. “Are you always this sentimental in the morning?”

“You’ll have to spend more mornings with me to find out.”

“I’d like that.”

She wraps her arms fully around Clarke’s form, pulling her impossibly closer. Lexa thanks whatever or whoever may be listening for quiet mornings, and the little galaxy contained within the woman that fell from the sky, and then fell for her.


	2. Speechless

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "I don't know what to say"

It’s a day much like any other.

Her muscles ache, the morning’s training session with her natblidas wearing on her more so than usual. She can tell they’re progressing based on the increasing number of bruises she ends up with match-to-match. Lexa’s proud of them, no matter the personal pain she endures to signify their development.

The headache, though, a result of spending hours overseeing petty squabbles back and forth between the ambassadors about land disputes and property rights, she would rather live without. 

Overall everything went much according to the routine she’s established, one she intends to end in a warm bath before reading over a few scouting reports and considering how to proceed, just as always. 

Life is outwardly calmer during peace time, but more tense. Conditions are fragile without a common enemy to keep the clans unified. Lexa finds herself holding back the typical intensity of her command during times of war, fully aware that issues arising now demand delicacy and subtlety. Heda is just as much a politician as a warlord, and she’s nothing if not prepared to fulfill any role her duty demands. Her time now is less kicking people off buildings, and more wishing to kick people off buildings. It’s taxing, to say the least.

But Lexa forgets it all, from the bruises dotting her body to the obnoxious ambassadors and their inconsequential feuds to how to maintain her pace or form a proper greeting, when she sees that she has visitor in her room.

“Hi.” Clarke stands before her for the first time in months, having been away trying to establish a firmer sense of stability within Arkadia under Kane’s new leadership and further cement the alliance between their people. 

She looks tired, Lexa notices immediately. The creases between her eyebrows she gets when stressed or annoyed have left a permanent wrinkle. Her hair’s almost returned to its natural waves, though Lexa still spies tiny braids interwoven in a few places throughout. That sight makes her prouder than it should.

Lexa’s torn between relief that Clarke’s returned, and worry and the potential reasons for exactly what brought her back. Her need to process seeing Clarke again leaves her without words.

Clarke shifts around, clearly uncomfortable with the silence. “Surprise” she says through an awkward chuckle.

Lexa wracks her brain trying to find any sentence that would be appropriate for what she’s feeling, and the circumstances they find themselves under. 

_“I’ve missed you”_ would be the most true, but after the months since Clarke’s departure, she’s no longer entirely certain of where they stand in their personal relationship.

_“Problems in Arkadia?”_ is too formal considering the late night arrival and the look of something akin to renewal on Clarke’s features as she moves her eyes up and down Lexa’s form.

It seems months of no correspondence is a habit incredibly difficult to break.

Lexa approaches Clarke slowly, silent. Clarke stands her ground, not moving at all until the distance between them is nearly gone. Clarke blinks something unspoken away before wrapping her arms around Lexa’s shoulders.

She practically melts into the embrace. She’s able to breathe again, and Lexa finds her words. “It’s good to see you, Clarke.”

They hold each other tightly for so long Lexa thinks her knees might buckle, and then still for longer. Neither moves at all until Lexa finds it in her heart to let go of something as irreplaceable as a reunion neither knew would come.

Lexa lessens her grip just enough to pull back and look Clarke in the eye. “What brings you back to Polis?”

Clarke lifts a hand to Lexa’s cheek and runs her thumb gently over a bruise Lexa didn’t know she had. She doesn’t flinch away despite the pain, instead giving a subtle tilt of her head, leaning into the contact. 

“You.” Clarke says, as if it’s simple. As if that singular word doesn’t carry dangerous, life-changing implications. As if Lexa isn’t more terrified of an answer like that than one about problems between their people.

“I don’t know what to say.” She rarely does around Clarke, it seems. Matters of manipulation or inspiration are a breeze, the words come easy like the Commanders before her are guiding them, informing her intonation and manner with just enough confidence and hope that people believe her. Lexa, though, feels utterly incapable of saying the words she feels most often. 

“You don’t have to say anything at all.”

The sentence prompts a smile from both women, Lexa remembering fondly the events preceding and following Clarke’s utterance of similar words all too long ago.

Lexa follows, perhaps too eagerly, when Clarke’s hand grasps at the back of her neck and tugs. Their lips meet when the matching grins stop hindering the progress of a lovers’ reunion.

The kiss is familiar in its warmth and its importance and yet altogether new, because on this occasion they have time. There’s no rush to fit everything felt into a single hour, and it makes all the difference. 

Foreheads pressed together, the kiss says “I’ve missed you.”

Teeth grazing over lips, the kiss says “I’m glad you still want me.”

Arms holding one another closer than they’ve been in far too long, the kiss says “I’m tired of waiting for someday.”

Lexa is speechless, but the kiss is a promise of more time to form the words her heart longs for a chance to express in full. 

It’s a day, much like any other, filled with a few bruises, annoying ambassadors, and a headache. But Clarke is here, and they have time.

She’s hopeful that part will become just as much a part of her routine.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> let me know what you think! find me on tumblr @justicarlexa


	3. Remembering, Slowly

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "When's the last time I told you I loved you?"
> 
> note: this one's slightly angsty

Clarke does love him.

He’s good, and kind, and funny, and charming. He’s great with her family, her friends adore him, and he is everything she could have possibly wanted in the person she’s building a future with. None of that has changed. He hasn’t done anything wrong; she hasn’t been hurt. This might be easier if that was the case, but it’s not.

Finn is still the man she fell in love with years ago, and she would give almost anything if she could honestly say that she is still the woman that fell in love with him. 

But she can’t.

Clarke loves him, there is no denying that. It’s just been a while since she’s been _in love_ with him. 

She can’t pinpoint when it happened, she doesn’t even really know when she noticed that it happened. There was no waking up one day to the realization that she was no longer in love with the man she thought she’d spend forever with. There was no epiphany to angst over, no single moment of utter clarity, no blame to place.

It’s like remembering, but slower, she thinks. 

As much as she wants to blame Lexa for waltzing into her life without permission, and as much as she tries to, she remembers that she hasn’t even told him she loves him since before she met the woman. If anything, Lexa’s a catalyst to her memory. A signification that there’s something she’s forgotten at all. 

Lexa reminds her of what it feels like to be in love. Clarke needs the difference to notice that there is one. She doesn’t know she isn’t in love with Finn anymore until she is absolutely in love with Lexa.

And after that, she starts remembering everything. All of the fights that should have made her angrier, all of the moments she should have been rushing home because she missed him, all of the days with him that felt more like “this is a good way to spend my time” than “this is how I want to be spending my time”.

Clarke feels guilty that it took so long to notice, and she feels even guiltier that there had to be another person in the picture for her to notice.

But the worst part is the fact that Finn hasn’t noticed either.

She has to tell him. It’d be wrong not to. She doesn’t know that she doesn’t want to be with him, to try to fall in love with him again, and she doesn’t know that she actually wants to give it a shot with Lexa.

But she knows that she owes him the truth.

Clarke sits him down one day, and has to force herself to meet those big brown eyes of his, eager to listen as always. She doesn’t know what to say, not really. She doesn’t think anything about this is going to be gentle, and she’s certain that no matter what words she uses, his heart will be broken by the end of this conversation.

She starts with a question. 

“When’s the last time I said I love you?”

Clarke can tell by the look in his eyes that Finn starts remembering, slowly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> please, tell me what you think! find me on tumblr @justicarlexa


	4. A Hard Day's Night

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Modern AU. "Hello gorgeous, have we met before?"

It hadn’t been the best of days.

Lexa had shown up late for work, the result of forgetting to charge her phone the night before and missing three alarms, five phone calls, and thirteen texts from her coworkers that contained messages varying from “Are you feeling okay? This isn’t like you” to “if u get fired 4 this can i have ur desk fan?”

It’s just her luck, really, that the desire for perfection on her portion of the company’s annual report would drive her to stay up so late working on it that her only error was not getting it on time.  

There wasn’t even time to stop for her usual morning coffee, putting her in an even worse mood and effectively rendering her incapable of handling the emotional trauma of traffic and her parking space being taken. She ended up finding a spot nearly three blocks away from her building and, despite being just short of change enough to cover the entire day, decided that popping out to put more money in the machine at some point later would be preferable to showing up even tardier.

All that, and it still wasn’t until Lexa nearly lost a physical fight with the office’s Copy Machine From Hell that she wanted to give up and try the whole “life” thing again tomorrow. She was certain the day couldn’t get worse, a sentiment she deeply regretted when the day proved that it could indeed get worse, and she should never doubt the world’s capacity of being absolutely horrid.

When she got back to her apartment she felt that she survived some sort of war, and all she had to show for it was a coffee-stained shirt (thanks to the idiotic intern who didn’t know how to look where he was going), a parking ticket (thanks to her idiotic self for not remembering to put more change in the machine), and a verbal lashing from her superiors (thanks to the Apple corporation for their idiotic product design with such unsatisfactory battery life).

No, it had not been the best of days, and Lexa was deadset on soaking in a bath with a glass of wine and forgetting all about it when she received a text from Anya insisting they spend their Friday night out on the town. Her protests only made her friend more dedicated to her cause. And, despite her resistance, Lexa found herself doing just as much brooding and just as much drinking as she would have at home, only in public at an overcrowded bar and with real clothes on.

It was miserable, truly.

She was contemplating the merits of dragging Anya away from her new special lady friend on the dance floor long enough to tell her she’s leaving when she felt a light hand on her shoulder. Lexa chose to ignore it, _really_ not in the mood to deal with that, up until she heard what was likely the worst line in the history of bad pickup lines whispered in her ear.

“Hello, gorgeous. Have we met before?”

Lexa was physically incapable of containing her eye roll at the raspy-voiced stranger. Another day with more alcohol, less grumpiness, and a better line, perhaps she’d give this girl the time of day. But she wasn’t in the mood.

She turned in her stool to tell her just that, and possibly berate her for touching a stranger without consent as she did, and the words she plans on don’t end up coming out. In fact, nothing does, for what’s likely an embarrassing amount of time.

There was something about that stranger. The golden hair, the sparkling blue eyes, the smile that screams “mischief you won’t find it in your heart to regret”.

There was something about that stranger, that’s for certain.

As Lexa remembered her words, she decided that, while the day may not have been the best, it definitely wasn’t going to be the worst.


	5. Time and Time Again

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: "Since it's been 6 months and I wanna be emo over Clexa, if, theoretically, Lexa faked her death, how do you think she would tell Clarke if she even did? And if she did tell Clarke, how do you think Clarke would react?"

It starts with a meeting. 

Representatives from the remaining grounder forces coming together with people from Skaikru in an effort to nail out a plan regarding yet another threat to humanity’s existence. 

“Can you help us?” Clarke entreats from the council, still the only remotely trusted sky person’s voice among the grounders.

“No” is the short answer, and there’s a long moment in which Clarke thinks it might be the only one she gets until finally, “but we know of someone who might.”

Clarke’s stomach drops. It’s a rumor, a trick. It has to be. She can’t allow herself to hope that the words might be true, a hope as such would be outright absurd. Lexa’s dead, she watched her die, felt her last breath leave her mouth as their lips pressed together one final time. Lexa’s dead. she can’t possibly be the last hope her people have of survival. Lexa’s dead. And nothing makes sense without her, not even the thought that she might not have to be.

 _Lexa’s dead_. It’s a mantra she repeats over and over again in her head as she makes her way to the location the Trikru ambassador circled on her map. 

To call it a village would be generous, it’s more a single row of huts, each with a small garden and clotheslines running all the way across. 

 _“You’ll find her in the last house in the row. She’s expecting you.”_  

It takes her almost an hour to reach the door, maybe a hundred yards away from where the first house stood. She stands outside of it for longer, unsure of what she expects to find inside. It starts raining by the time she presses her palm to the handle, and she slowly pushes it open.

There’s a fire burning inside directly across from the door, the light of it warm but blinding in contrast to the dark night outside. Her eyes take time to adjust, squinting and straining to make out the shadowed figure that stands before them, facing the fire.

The firgure turns the face her and the air leaves Clarke’s chest, the only sounds in the room the cracking of the hearth and the water droplets splattering against the stone floor.

“Hello, Clarke.” Her posture is straight and her chin is held high and her arms are crossed behind her back and her eyes are trained on her in the way they always seem to be and she’s breathing and she’s breathing and _she’s breathing._

And Lexa isn’t dead.

Clarke isn’t in control of what happens next.

She rushes at her, falling into arms that barely have time to catch her, sobbing. Chest heaving, air coming in painfully and leaving even more so. Her hands grasp at Lexa’s shirt, curling the fabric into her fists and pulling her closer. Her head falls to the space between her neck and her shoulder. She breathes her in, relief washing over her for the first few seconds their bodies are pressed together.

And then Clarke’s furious. Fists still balled, banging against Lexa’s chest, she releases a cracked sob that Lexa feels against her neck more than she hears “You’re here. This whole time you’ve-”

Lexa pulls her closer, absorbing the anger and the misery and the relief in equal measure. “I’m sorry.” And she is.

Clarke laughs then, and breathing gets harder when her attention’s already split between sobs and full-bodied laughter. 

She doesn’t know what she’s feeling, not exactly.

But she knows she has time to feel all of it.

They have time.

**Author's Note:**

> please tell me what you think! find me on tumblr @justicarlexa :)


End file.
